From the very moment of Lucius’s arrival to this nation, the Franks had always kept their would-be emperor hidden, never once mentioning his existence unless directly asked. And even then the responses would always be the same. The emperor was busy with other matters; the emperor had not the time to grant them audience. Yet, when a crucial event did come to pass, such as Sir Renaud’s resignation ceremony, it was Ganelon who held the proceedings. It was Ganelon who handled the vast majority of the nation’s affairs.

  Some of the more keen-sighted players noticed this odd discrepancy and attempted to sate their curiosity by interrogating the Franks further, even attempting to bribe a few loose-lipped looking fellows. But none would give them a clear answer. The corrupt priests, the gossiping servants, nor the elderly paladins. They kept their silence whilst wearing an expression of both discomfort and fear - fear of what Ganelon would do to them.

  The emperor was this land’s most protected secret, the one treasure they could not reveal no matter what. Now, Lucius understood why; or perhaps it would be better to say he found out a long time ago.

  It was because the emperor was still a child.

  “Look how pathetic you’ve become, boy.”

  Pepin leaned forward, his rancid green breath spewing directly onto Karolus’s face. The poor boy was too confused, too terrified, to comprehend the reality before him. There his father stood, a rotted mess of a corpse that should have perished five years ago, yet he was here now. His voice rumbled in wicked ecstasy. His overbearing gaze pushed down on the boy, and Karolus could only sit there with trembling eyes as he beheld the demonic heart thumping in the former emperor’s chest.

  Karolus struggled to breathe. He could not bear to meet the figure lingering just above his sight, for he knew to do so would mean acknowledging the impossible: that his nightmares had come to life. Even as tears rolled down his cheeks and his father’s gaze threatened to swallow him entirely, he refused to look up.

  But such behavior only served to further enrage the one called Pepin.

  “To think, even with the years and seasons come to pass, my heir has not grown one bit. The sniveling infant of yesterday is still a sniveling brat now, without a single redeeming quality. Charlemagne, my son… truly you are my biggest failure of all.”

  Pepin shook his head and then glanced around the room. He grimaced at the childish toys and furnishings, and he recoiled in disgust that his own flesh and blood would be so regrettably meagre.

  Karolus choked on his own breaths and covered his mouth. He desperately tried to make himself seem smaller, unknowing that with his every action, his father’s temper only continued to flare.

  “But perhaps the most grievous sin is that you willingly sealed what makes you superior - what makes us the shepherds and others the flock. And for what? Because this whimpering, craven little man fit only to be our mutt asked you so?”

  Pepin grabbed Ganelon and roughly threw him to the ground. The High Tribunal coughed, wheezing from the impact and the countless wounds spread across his body.

  Karolus’s eyes widened, and he reached out toward Ganelon, only to be stopped at the last moment as Pepin loomed over him whilst uttering a disappointed rasp.

  “My mind cannot fathom it. For what reason would you allow these lowly beings to control you? They are insignificant, tools. Ganelon… I understand keeping him. The fool is rather entertaining, how easy it is to break him or how he holds in his anger and slobbers over your boots without hesitation. But people such as he must be appropriately tamed, or else they shall desire what does not belong to them.”

  As if to demonstrate, Pepin turned around and dug his leg hard in Ganelon’s ribs. The man could barely utter a shout in pain, his throat long dried up from his liege’s abuse.

  And all the while, Karolus could do nothing. “N-no,” he muttered. “Stop—stop!” But his pleas fell on deaf ears. No matter how he protested or cried in frustration, Ganelon’s beating only continued, and the boy was helpless to watch the color slowly, but surely, drain from his skin.

  “You have not yet answered me,” Pepin grunted. “Why did you do it? Why did you seal our divine right?”

  The former emperor goaded Karolus, urging him to reply. Yet fear was a peculiar thing. It made rational minds slow to a crawl and forced even the most verbose of men to stutter over their words. Karolus wanted to speak, if only in the hopes that it would stop his father’s cruel torture, but he couldn’t quite force it out. The cold, grasping terror that was Pepin’s presence made it impossible to do aught else but shudder.

  “Gone mute, is it? Have you truly degraded to such a state that you cannot answer so simple a question? Oh, woe is me. Woe be mine lineage of gold, that it be ruined now by a runt without spine.”

  Pepin sighed and left Ganelon to wallow in his injuries. The putrid man could not bear his son’s cowardice any longer. He crept near the boy and lowered onto his knee, before taking his sludge-covered hand and violently jerking Karolus’s chin up, forcing him out of hiding.

  “Enough of this,” he said. “Do you know how fortunate you are, to be mine only progeny? I do not have the patience to yield another heir. In all the hundreds of harlots I bred, only three gave me a child. One died at birth. The other was without blessing and should have died earlier to save me the disappointment. But you? In your chest resides potential, the chance to be another me. That is why I named you Charlemagne—Charles the Great. You are destined for greatness, so act as such and stop this sniffling.”

  The boy shook in Pepin’s grasp. He wanted to resist his father’s edict, his expectations, but what could he do now? The former emperor’s malice was too deep, and bottomless, and overpowering to confront. Only one choice awaited him now… he had to submit.

  But then, he heard a voice. It was so quiet that one could easily mistake it for the wind, and yet that very voice was what drew the boy back from his father’s vast darkness.

  It was the voice of Ganelon, the man responsible for his imprisonment, his idleness, the one he once gave his full trust, only to have it broken and betrayed. He was the man Karolus didn’t want to see most, for their previous encounter was of naught but bitter spite. Yet when he heard Ganelon’s words now, it was different.

  “Don’t… listen to him.”

  In his words was ever a trail of fear, but it was not toward Pepin; he deigned not even to look at the foul thing anymore. His fear was directed toward Karolus.

  Or more specifically, what he would become.

  “You don’t need to take that name, nor anything your father gives you. It’s fine to remain as Karolus. You don’t have to be anyone else.”

  Charlemagne or Karolus? Two names and two wholly different identities. The moment the boy accepted his father’s title would mean the death of the other, as well as the final confirmation of his fate, the future he would undoubtedly sow.

  “You can continue to be a child, to never mature and meet the cruel expectations of adulthood. There will only be pain there, my boy. Nothing good will come of it. Rather than watch you wither away, I would rather you continue dreaming here where there is no pain, no hardship, nothing to make you sad.”

  The challenges of life often came when one least expected it. There was no time to prepare nor time to think when placed on the crossroads destiny. What should Karolus choose? What was most important to him?

  He did not know. He was never given the chance to know. All his life, the boy was pulled toward a future not of his making, one decided by others around him. His father wished him to be another conqueror and to carry on his dream of dominating the continent, even if it meant going down the path of destruction. His uncle meanwhile desired for stagnation; he wanted Karolus to suppress himself, to sleep, to never give the waking world a meaningful glance - a life spent in eternal apathy until the day he died.

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  In the end, it didn’t matter what Karolus wanted. His will was never fully his own, all because of the blood that ran through his veins.

  “Ganelon, mine Ganelon, even now you wish to tempt my son. What is your obsession with him, to cling so desperately? Do you believe he will save you, or perhaps does the promise of riches and pleasures blind your vision?”

  Pepin abandoned his son and stepped near the High Tribunal’s body. A cold air swept through the room, the tension even more suffocating than before.

  “No matter, for I have conceived a wonderful plan.”

  The former emperor grabbed him again and gave Karolus only a single demand. “Follow.” The boy reluctantly nodded and rose up despite his wobbling knees. At least his father wasn’t punishing Ganelon anymore, but something tugged at the back of mind, whispering of a terrible event to come. Pepin broke out into a wide grin; his glee was palpable.

  Thus, the father and the son left the room and slowly trudged through the empty halls of the castle. It would seem Sir Olivier had evacuated everyone during the prior chaos. Where everyone was now, or whether they were still alive, Lucius did not know; but he wasn’t afraid. The Peers were a hardy group, and the most seriously injured amongst the gentleman’s party, Miss Enapay, already had her severed stump treated. Though that wasn’t accounting for the mental trauma she suffered…

  Regardless, this experience had derailed far, far more drastically than Lucius had expected. What fun! The former emperor made for a lovely shocking twist, and with the young Karolus now involved as a major character, there were endless ways this story could lead toward. Why, the gentleman was already coming up with one such scenario right this very moment.

  Yes, perhaps this new direction would bring about an even more beautiful finale. Everything would depend on Karolus’s choice.

  “Ah, at last we arrive.”

  Before Lucius’s view, the twin doors guarding the throne room were pushed wide open, and Pepin walked inside, basking in the light cast by the stained glass above. The former emperor had come to reclaim his throne.

  “Hrm, a fine stage. From this chamber, a new Francia, reborn, shall rise.”

  Pepin tossed Lucius and Ganelon behind him and gradually climbed the steps to the shining throne above. He touched the aged marble and drenched himself in its history, in the glory and might that embodied the rulers of yore. This was where he belonged. Sat upon the cushioned seat, all were forced to look up and worship, his gaze cast downward as was his right.

  Yet, he knew there would be no forever, and even his life would one day return to the rivers’ oblivion. He needed an heir. He needed an obedient tool, one that would inherit all that he was.

  For that, Karolus… no, Charlemagne had to be disciplined.

  “You have served me well, Ganelon,” the man said, wreathed in the room’s grand legacy. “In all this land, there shall never be another as entertaining as you. And so I bequeath one final duty. Rejoice, Ganelon. Rejoice! For what greater honor can be had, than having one’s blood birth the next me?”

  Ganelon coughed, lifting his pale head up and glaring at the blinding icon he could never hope to reach. “Haha, finally decided to kill me, have you? Go on, then. With my dying breath, I'll cast a curse and drag you to the deepest hells alongside me.”

  But before his threat, Pepin merely smiled.

  “No, I will not be your executioner - such would only be to your satisfaction. Your death must be miserable, Ganelon. It must yield the sweetest scream, the most delectable despair. It must bring about that which you fear most.”

  Ganelon did not understand, at first. Slowly but surely, realization crept into his frayed heart, and he could only weep, for he knew now his purpose, the reason why Pepin had kept him alive and dragged him here.

  “Charlemagne,” the Evil commanded. “My flesh, my lone child who prevailed against all other seed, take up the blade now. You are my heir. Carnage shall be your calling and your most fervent desire, just as it is mine. Shed your naivety now and unveil your true nature. Bathe this room in Ganelon’s blood, and take your rightful place by my side.”

  Ganelon’s greatest fear, greater than the demons, greater than Pepin, greater than all else that exists in this boundless land, was Karolus. Everything the man had done was to prevent the boy from going down the wrong path, to stop him from becoming like his father. But now his end approached. How darkly humorous it was that it would be wrought by the hand of the one he considered his own child.

  Truly, a bitter tragedy.

  “Lucius,” Ganelon pleaded. “Please, kill me. Do not let Karolus taint himself with slaughter. I cannot muster the strength to do it myself. You have to—”

  “Silence.” Pepin waved his hand and motioned for the gentleman to walk away. “Masked creature, this business does not involve you.”

  Lucius wasn’t quite sure about that, but Pepin was correct in that he wouldn’t interfere. At least not until a certain someone had resolved himself.

  Everything came down to Karolus’s decision.

  “What will you do, my young friend?” the gentleman asked.

  Up atop the throne, the evil called Pepin appeared insurmountable, a force of carnal depravity that which had no escape. There was no running away for the boy, nor was he certain in besting his father. The choice was seemingly already made.

  “I…” Karolus muttered. “I don’t…”

  He took a shaky breath and wiped his tears, before staring at Ganelon. “Uncle, I still don’t think I can forgive you.”

  “Karolus—” Ganelon began.

  “You’ve been with me for as long as I can remember. You cared for me when I was sick, you read me books and fairy tales when I grew lonely, and… and you were the only one who grieved with me when Gisela died. In those days, I really thought of you as a father.”

  Ganelon shut his lips and fell to a hush.

  “But uncle, that’s why it hurt so deeply when you broke my trust. When you asked me to seal my blessing in the Joyeuse, I agreed because I thought it was the right thing to do, and I saw just how much pain it caused you. I didn’t want you to be sad anymore, so I listened, and I obeyed. I continued to obey when you locked me away in the castle and forbade me from speaking to anyone else. I did it all, because I believed one day you would bring me out and we would be just like before. But… you never did.”

  Karolus leaned his head back and sighed. He looked at the holy sword, now laying helplessly a few steps away, and then at his own hands. He pondered for quite some time. He thought back to his past and all the moments, the emotions, everything that made him who he was today.

  Then, when his mind was finally made up, Karolus walked up to the sword, and he picked it up.

  “Yes, Charlemagne. You too shall know the ecstasy of fear,” Pepin rasped. “Go on, my son. It’s time to grow up and become the man you were always meant to be.”

  Ganelon sucked in his breath, and he closed his eyes, unwilling to face his final moments. Perhaps it was always meant to end this way. His sins were no lesser than Roland’s, and yet unlike him the High Tribunal was never in denial that one day he would face punishment. He lived as a wicked man and so he shall be so to his dying breath.

  “It’s okay,” he said as the boy drew close to deliver the final swing. “I know you’re a kind child, much too good to be forced into putting an old mutt like me down. So don’t feel guilty. Don't be sad. I’m proud of you, Karolus, and I always will be.”

  Ganelon lowered his neck and waited for the inevitable. The dawn’s light descended in pale, shimmering waves, illuminating the chamber and wrapping Karolus in a coat of gold. Engraved upon the walls were marble busts of all of the nation’s emperors and empresses, each one congregated to the side as if in audience as well, beholding the young would-be emperor.

  And so, Karolus raised his blade.

  In the course of his short, but weathered life, the boy had never been given a choice. It was forced upon him, decided for him. And never once did he try to fight against it. This was his fate, after all. That little child who dreamed of adventure and the outside did so knowing that it would forever be just a fantasy.

  “But you know what, uncle?”

  Yet that all changed when the otherworlders arrived. For once, his daily routine had been disrupted, and he met someone new — someone he could talk to. That person stoked in him a new desire in his chest, one that surged from a small ember to a roaring flame over time. He became more rebellious. He questioned, for the first time, what it was he truly wanted to do. His desire, the true yearnings of his heart.

  That gentleman introduced him to a world full of possibility, and now it was time to do what he could never before.

  Make his own choice.

  “I still love you.”

  Karolus took the holy sword in his hands, and he pointed it at Pepin, his curse, the cause of all the empire’s suffering.

  “In a way, you're right,” he said. “I have to grow up eventually, but I will never become like you. I will not watch the people I love be hurt any more. Rather than to slaughter, I hope this sword can be used to protect.”

  No longer would Karolus let himself be a mere spectator to the people’s suffering. In his hands lay a power that could bring change, and so he stood boldly before Pepin and proclaimed his conviction.

  The son, confident and free, chose to rebel against his destiny.

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful.

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]